


Amends

by galaxyprince



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, but also diverges from it a bit, ok so all the characters will show up at some point since this takes place through canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyprince/pseuds/galaxyprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott Warren wakes 200 years into the future, the Wasteland is not so different than the War he left behind in 2077. Running into Paladin Danse and the Brotherhood is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. Luckily, he knows how to get to Danse's soft spot, and the two form a bond that anyone who knows the Paladin would not believe possible.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unwelcome Guests

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is here! Get ready for some snarky interactions and a Paladin who is taking no shits from anyone. Hope you enjoy! Stay tuned for Chapter 2 and onward!  
> (Long build M!Sosu/Paladin Danse)[Like literally bear with me this thing is gonna be so many chapters lel]  
> I hope you enjoy reading about my darling sole survivor and the love of his life! These two have been through some tough spots, and I've wanted to write out their relationship from start to finish for a very long time now. I fell in love with Danse's backstory and I hope I do him justice in this.  
> -I'm like 84 years late to writing fic for this fandom I apologize but I'm here now so get ready-

Whoever had designed these vault suits definitely never intended for their wearers to venture out into the nuclear summers of the Wasteland. Scott scrunched his nose as he pulled at the material around his arms. The sun was setting, but the temperature showed no signs of dropping. 

Dogmeat barked at his ankles, circling around him as he unbuttoned the collar of the vault suit and ran his hand through his hair. Sure, it may have been hot in Boston before the war, but the nuclear apocalypse definitely wasn’t doing it any favors. 

He had been walking for hours without a single encounter with anything, living or dead, and his muscles were starting to burn in the hot temperatures. He figured the street he was on was one that had been cleared out by the overwhelming Brotherhood presence that had wormed its way into the Commonwealth. Or, at least that’s what it had seemed until a Feral Ghoul darted out from behind a bus in front of him, turning to acknowledge his presence before continuing past his line of sight and behind a building. Dogmeat ran after it, biting at the backs of its legs. Scott pulled out his gun, his fingers rejoicing against the cold metal of the handle, and hurried to catch up to his faithful companion, the dog way more excited to be seeing some action than Scott was. 

Dogmeat finally tackled the Ghoul outside a police station, where the unmistakable sounds of laser pistols came from inside the wooden defense walls. Ghouls poured in the entrance to the police station, and Scott watched as a few were turned to dust outside the gate. Raising his own pistol, he aimed to take out a few and bottleneck the stream that seemed to be a constant flow. As soon as there was a break in the approaching Ghouls, he slipped inside the gates, where there seemed to be an entire sea of them attacking a man in Power Armor. Scott pressed himself to the wall and began picking off the Ghouls one at a time. His eyes were used to the fast pace of the battlefield, and he could easily scan the area and take out Ghouls at the same time. 

Scott noticed two other people behind the man in the armor, each wielding their own guns and trying to communicate with each other over the snarls and gargling of the seemingly undead that continued to grab at their ankles, even if they had to crawl. Scott looked to his left as Dogmeat came bounding inside the walls, aiding them in their battle with the Ghouls. Scott held his breath as he swung his arm to the right and placed a bullet inside the skull of a Ghoul who had lunged at the armored man’s backside. 

It wasn’t easy, but soon the wrinkled bodies of the Ghouls littered the ground, and they could all breathe easy. Scott holstered his pistol, keeping count of how many bullets remained as he moved to close the gate to the police station. The group was checking over one another, but the man in the armor lifted his laser pistol as he moved towards Scott. 

“Thanks for the help, stranger, but what are you doing here?” 

Scott’s eyes trailed quickly over the man’s face down to his suit of Power Armor, his mind working to categorize everything he was seeing. “So, you’re from the Brotherhood? You know what that giant zeppelin is, then?” Scott wasn’t fond of answering a question with a question, but this seemed like the only way that he wouldn’t get his head instantly blown off his shoulders. He let his eyes drift past the man and onto the two people behind him, who were also now staring in his direction.

“Where are you from? Are you a raider, or someone of the likes here to kill us for your own vengeance?” The man asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked down on Scott, not amused by his unwillingness to answer the questions he was being asked. He pressed the laser pistol to the space where Scott’s jaw met his neck. Scott leaned back on his heels. Honesty was always the best policy in these situations. He didn’t have time to try and outsmart the guy.

“ I came from a Vault. Vault 111 to be exact,” Scott said, raising a hand to gently push the pistol from its threatening position. “Did the Vault suit not, like, give it away, or are you just that used to seeing men in blue jumpsuits walking around?” The man obliged and lowered the gun, willing to hear him out, if a bit irate at Scott’s sarcasm. Scott sighed. “What if I told you I was here to enlist, that I was sent from the base at the airport?” 

The man straightened up upon hearing that Scott was sent here by someone at home base. “I appreciate your honesty. Not many are as forthcoming anymore. If you’re here to help us eradicate Ghouls and crush the skulls of Super Mutants, then consider yourself among friends. You can address me as Paladin Danse, and those two are Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. They are what’s left—they’re my team here,” He nodded to where Haylen and Rhys were kneeling on the steps of the police station. 

“Scott, Scott Warren,” Scott bowed his head and gestured to Haylen and Rhys. 

“Since you are here, Scott Warren, and you seem to know how to handle yourself in battle well enough not to slow me down, I need assistance recovering a radio transmitter,” Danse motioned for Scott to follow him into the police station. Obliging, Scott whistled for Dogmeat to trail along as well.

“What kind of radio transmitter were you looking for?” Scott asked, pushing open the doors that lead inside. Danse walked over to the counter where a rather crudely drawn map was laid out with various markers and locations written on it in pen and pencil. 

“We’ve been cut off from the main fleet at the airport because of a faulty transmitter, and can’t make the trip all the way back there on our own. Getting in touch with the main fleet is our only chance now. We know of a location where one that will fit our equipment can be found. I don’t want to risk taking Rhys and Haylen out while they are still recovering, but we need to get it as soon as possible,” Danse pointed to a marker that didn’t seem to be too far off from where they were stationed currently. Scott pulled up the map on his PipBoy, setting down a marker on the location.

“The ArcJet Systems Complex…” Scott said, raising his eyebrows. Someone he had crossed paths with had mentioned ArcJet, and he didn’t have a good feeling about what they would find inside the building.

“You know of it?” Danse questioned, looking over to meet Scott’s eyes. 

“I’m not sure if knowing of it is a good thing. Someone I encountered before I came here said something ominous about it, about what is inside it,” He figured there was no harm in warning Danse about what he had heard. Surely it would be in good faith to stay on the side of Danse that trusted him at the moment. Danse looked back to the map.

“Either you can come with me, or you can leave. I’m not letting anything stop me from getting that transmitter.”

After a moment of weighing the pros and cons, Scott closed his PipBoy and sighed. “Alright, Danse, I’m in. But both of us are getting out of there alive, because I refuse to have the death of a Paladin on my hands as I am trying to join the Brotherhood,” Scott looked up at Danse from under his eyebrows, making eye contact, but making it with a purpose. This guy may be above his rank now, but he was a hearty general of the United States Army before the war, and a New World Paladin would not knock him down on his knees so easily. 

“We leave at Dawn. Make yourself comfortable with whatever we’ve got here for the night,” Danse retreated back to the front steps and Haylen saluted him as he walked past. She made her way to where Scott was standing, his arms supporting him against the counter, and Dogmeat lying at his feet. 

“He seems like a tough guy, but he’s actually rather sweet,” she said, leaning against the counter and watching Danse make his way to his post for the evening. 

“You like him?” Scott smirked. Haylen was not amused.

“No! He’s just a good guy. What’s wrong with you?” She snapped.

“Alright, alright. I never would have guessed. That he’s a nice guy,” Scott smiled at her in greeting, “Don’t worry, I know his type. I’m ex-military, myself, I know how soldiers act when they are around others they are trying to earn respect from. It hasn’t changed much since my time,” Scott mused, thinking back on the soldiers under his command, the young and stupid, the young and brave, the ones without anywhere else to go. A lot of good men died under his command, and he was sure Danse has suffered the same fate. The scar across his cheek felt heavy and prominent as he remembered the bayonet closing in on his face, the young soldier in front of him scared to deal the final blow. Scott remembered the dead look in the kid’s eyes the moment he was struck down from behind, the bayonet dragging across Scott’s face. 

“Since your time?” Haylen looked over to him and raised an eyebrow. Right, that was over 200 years ago. There’s no way he would be able to explain how it was to her back then, but he couldn’t keep quiet, it was rude. Scott took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to answer in a way that wouldn’t result in more questions. 

“War never changes,” He simply smiled and pushed off of the counter, nodding to her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to try and turn in for the afternoon, it’s been a long day,”

“Not a night sleeper?” She asked, confused by Scott’s odd behavior no doubt.

“It’s just good to get in a few hours whenever you can. You never know when death is going to come knocking at your door, and being tired for that fight isn’t worth it,” He turned a corner of the police station and spotted an unused bed in the corner of what used to be an office. 

He closed the door, leaving it cracked for Dogmeat to explore if he so wished, and unzipped his vault suit to his waist, stretching out onto the mattress. Even 30 minutes was good, Scott just wanted to relax for once. Having a few other people to watch your back was a luxury he rarely had out on the road. 

Scott woke up sweating, his undershirt sticking to his chest in uncomfortable places. It was dark, the only light in the building coming from a few lanterns out in the main room. He rolled Dogmeat away from his side and stood up, tying the arms of his vault suit around his waist and making his way to where he had departed from Scribe Haylen a few hours before. Nobody was in the main hall, but a fire was burning outside, so someone must have been on watch.

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled outside, sighing as he saw the silhouette of Danse’s armor leaning against a pole. “Not one for sleep either I see,” He said, careful not to startle the man. Danse turned to look at him, pinching his eyebrows together and pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Warren, what can I do for you?” He asked, clearly not into the small talk Scott had attempted to start.

“Just wanted to chat, that’s all. And, please, call me Scott,” He stood next to Danse, his eyes drifting towards the sky. Scott was never one for petty talk about the weather, but he had to start the conversation somehow, and jumping right into ‘Hey I hope we don’t die tomorrow because of a stupid mistake, because I still have things to do’ seemed like an awful ice-breaker. “Man, it’s nice to be able to see the stars so clearly like this. It was always hard with the constant blare of the city lights in the distance back home,” Scott shifted his eyes to Danse to see whether he had caught onto the hint of Scott’s misplacement in time. Sure enough, he had Danse’s attention.

“You regularly left the vault to visit the outdoors?” He asked. Scott let the corner of his lips pull up a little, a small smile of amusement forming. So, he didn’t get it exactly, but that’s alright. 

“Something like that,” He let the silence linger for a moment, a pregnant pause catching between them. “I wanted to ask you something, if that’s alright,” Scott leaned on the pole opposite Danse, glancing over to him. 

“Go ahead, recruit,” Danse said curtly, returning to his natural state of poise and intimidation. Scott sighed, unsure of how to phrase this without Danse completely closing off, or worse, sending him away with a warning to never speak with the Brotherhood again. Danse waited patiently for Scott to speak, and Scott rubbed his foot on the back of his ankle, debating making something else up to fill the question. He decided to just go for it.

“I mean no disrespect, sir, but… You seemed dead set on not taking your team on this expedition tomorrow. It… wouldn’t happen to be because orders on a mission with stakes like this was what got the other members of your team killed in the field before I found you here?” Scott folded his arms, shielding himself from the wind and keeping his eyes trained on the sky. He caught a glimpse of Danse looking in his direction, still as if out of fear. Maybe Scott shouldn’t have brought it up. “Don’t forget I was a soldier too, Danse. I know the kind of things that happen. I know them all too well,” Scott thought back to the Sino-American War and shifted his gaze to the ground. Anchorage took the lives of too many in his battalion. 

Danse kept his eyes on Scott as he answered. “It was my duty to keep them alive, much like it will be my duty to keep you alive tomorrow, civilian,” Danse frowned.

“I’ve been trying to tell you, Danse, I’m not a civilian. Combat is an old tale that’s been told many times. For someone who isn’t used to the hardships, it’s a challenge to know when to keep your head above water; and while I may not know you very well, hell everything I say is speculation based off of less than a day of observations, but I don’t see you as one to risk everything to prove to yourself that you deserve to fail. Don’t imagine tomorrow as a suicide run. Let’s just get what we are going for and get the hell out of there. If you try and be the hero, then you’re going to have to fight me for the position of sacrificial idiot, because it’s going to be my duty to keep you alive as well,” Scott shrugged. Sure it was more poetic than he needed to be, but if Danse couldn’t keep his head on straight tomorrow, Scott wasn’t sure if he could drag him along as baggage. 

“You sure talk a lot of self proclaimed wisdom for a kid,” Danse said, his power armor creaking as he repositioned himself to look past where Scott was standing and back to the door of the police station.

“I’m not a kid, Danse, I’m way older than you would ever imagine,”

“I’ve seen the Wasteland age a person 40 years in a single night, I believe I would be able to imagine,” He glanced back to Scott before resuming his on-guard position. Scott figured that was all he was going to get out of Danse for the night. The guy wasn’t much of a talker, but if they were going to be able to be in sync during combat tomorrow, he would need to be able to get through to Danse. Scott sighed.

“Maybe one day I will tell you how the Wasteland aged me in what seemed like a night,” He pushed away from the pole and leaned over to elbow Danse in the arm. “You’ve been wearing that suit of armor since I got here, why don’t you go ahead and get some rest and I can take over watch for the night.” Danse recoiled, pulling away from Scott. It seemed as if the guy was remembering something that had a connection to what Scott had said, and Scott decided to take a few steps away, refining his offer. “I know you probably don’t trust me yet, but from one soldier to another, I’ve got your back. You look like shit, seriously, I insist that you let me take over for the night,” Scott nodded to the police station. He understood why Danse was reluctant to hand over the post. To a soldier, sleep is like a cage, holding the dreamer prisoner waiting to torture them with the worst that the mind can think of. Scott remembers yelling in the middle of the night, knocking things off the nightstand, and becoming so angry and scared that his wife would refuse to sleep with him. He would wake, disoriented, still imagining the things he was seeing were real. He knew the threat of a dream, and he hoped that Danse would see it in him that he could empathize. 

Danse took him up on the offer and nodded curtly, his head barely moving, but Scott could see the gratefulness in Danse’s eyes, the relief that followed as he raised his head and made his way to the police station. 

Scott took up post and stuck his hands in his pockets, mirroring the pose he had found Danse in when he had emerged in the courtyard prior. Taking a deep breath he listened to the sounds of the Wasteland. They weren’t much different than those of No Man’s Land, the stale air and sounds of crickets on the battleground. When the all too familiar sound of Power Armor being disengaged interrupted the flat hum of the night, Scott turned slightly to see Danse remove the fusion core and tuck it under his arm. Without the armor on, Danse looked small; curled in on himself and hyper aware of his surroundings. Scott hoped he would get some sleep so that tomorrow would go smoothly, but he wasn’t sure.

When the yelling started an hour into his watch, Scott wanted to be there, to say something, but he knew that there was no way to reach a fallen soldier in a battle with a nightmare. By the lack of other voices, Haylen and Rhys hadn’t stepped in either, and Scott knew that they had experienced this before. It pained Scott to listen, and he couldn’t imagine how it was for the other two. 

He leaned his head back and tried to focus on the sounds of the night once more, unwilling to hear the pained pleas for help from a drowning man with nowhere to go.


	2. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott was hoping he wouldn't have to carry the conversation on the trip to ArcJet, but he didn't expect anything more. Danse was proving to be harder to talk to than Dogmeat, and Scott gets restless. They come to a mutual understanding through combat, though, and Scott learns that he may be able to talk to Danse better in actions more than words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very slow at posting these chapters, bear with me guys! Here's chapter two, enjoy!

“The canteens are filled and packed, Sir. Two days worth of rations have been set aside for your journey and an extra fusion core as backup,” Haylen was buzzing around the police station, handing Danse various packs of field items and warning him about what they may encounter on the way to their location. Scott had hoisted himself up on the counter in the front room and was sucking at the core of an apple as he watched Rhys and Haylen fuss over their commanding officer. 

“Outsider, get the hell off that counter. I’m not going to ask again,” Rhys frowned, raising his voice. Scott brushed him off and shrugged to Dogmeat, who yawned from his position on the floor. Danse was checking over the Power Armor, making sure it was ready to go, and Scott suddenly felt extremely unprepared. He had been wandering the Wasteland for almost a month now with nothing more than his vault suit, some armor he looted off a poor dead sap, a pistol, and a long-range hunting rifle. He was honestly surprised that he wasn’t dead now after looking at how powerful and well prepared the Brotherhood was to handle the Wasteland. If he had run into one of them and they began to shoot, Scott would lose that battle in a heartbeat. Flesh was not good protection against an excessive amount of bullets, or laser weaponry for that matter.

Danse punched the fusion core into the Power Armor and it hissed to life. The hair’s on Scott’s arms stood up remembering the feel of stepping inside a suit to go to war. The model Danse had was different than what he had fought in, and it was much older now of course, but he was sure the concept was still the same. Surely the armor was good protection against the heat, and Scott wished he had a suit of his own before they went out on this seemingly two-day endeavor. 

He was lost in thought, pulled out of his daydream when Danse called his name forcefully. “Recruit, are you ready to hit the road? We have a mission to fulfill,” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Scott watched as he secured the helmet to the power armor over his head and tightened the latches. 

For the first time in a long time he thought of Elliot and Beckett, and the rest of his team from Anchorage. In that small moment as Danse smiled before tossing the suit helmet onto his head, Scott could have sworn he was back in the field, the cold Alaskan air biting at this cheeks, watching his team suit up for the next battle. 

Scott nodded, hopping down off of the counter and tossing the expended apple core into what he believed to be a trashcan. Danse lead the way out the front doors of the police station, and Scott was close behind, watching Dogmeat trot along in his new bandana. Scott smiled, appreciating how nice the new gear suited Dogmeat. Danse spoke up as they exited the exterior barricades, “The location we are going to is approximately three miles from the station. I’m hoping to get there and be able to complete our mission before dark, but I have no idea what we are going to encounter on the road. Stay sharp,” He instructed, never taking his eyes off of the path in front of them. Scott sighed. Danse was all business all the time, and this was going to be a very long trip. It was such a shame, too, because the guy was definitely attractive. The looks and personalities rarely match up, though. Scott laughed to himself. Danse glanced at him over his shoulder, and though he had a helmet on, the glare was evident.

It had been a while since he had travelled with anyone other than Dogmeat, and he was itching to strike up a conversation with the Paladin, but Danse’s overwhelming aura of isolation was enough to keep him quiet for a while. Scott scratched at the old scar on his face and picked up his feet, attempting to keep up with the long strides Danse was making in the power armor.   
After about an hour of walking in silence, Scott broke the tension in the air. “So, Danse,” He started, folding his hands behind his head and stretching his legs with each step they took, trying to loosen up his joints. “How long have you been with the Brotherhood?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow and hoping he would get an answer that actually addressed the question.

“The Brotherhood has been the most important presence in my life for as long as my life has mattered,” Danse said, not looking over to where Scott was keeping stride beside him. Scott frowned. It wasn’t the most direct answer, but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. This guy was harder to talk to than Shaun, and Shaun was a baby. Unless it was about the current mission, Danse was a closed book. 

Something about this piqued Scott’s interest, and he wanted to poke at Danse until he popped and spilled about himself. Scott whistled. “I’m sure your life matters outside of the Brotherhood. What do you do besides march around in that hunk of junk?” Scott elbowed Danse in the arm, the hard metal making his funny bone tingle on impact. Danse shot him a glare before turning his attention to the road ahead of them. “Alright, tough guy, this is going to be a painful two days if you keep quiet the whole time. Humor me. Do you play baseball? Do you even like sports? Wait, do they even have sports anymore? They must! Sports are the great American past time,” Scott rambled for a second before turning back to Danse, “If not sports are you… an artist? Do you enjoy music or painting?” He mimicked the motions of playing the drums and spun around to walk backwards and get a better look at Danse’s face. 

“All of that died along with the past,” Danse snapped back. Scott backed away, the tone of Danses’ voice enough to send shivers down his spine. Alright, the guy was the real deal. But even soldiers had to loosen up sometimes. Scott knew this first hand. Sooner or later Danse is going to be eaten alive by the obsession to serve. He saw it happen to a woman in his rank once. The poor girl wanted to prove herself so badly that she gave up everything for the cause, including her family. She tore herself apart from the inside out, doing everything she could to climb the ladder and make a name for herself. She was killed in the line of duty, drawn to the cannon fire like a moth to a flame. Scott never knew whether or not she had done it consciously, or whether her madness just took her to destruction. All he knew was that the war had changed her. 

Scott looked up at Danse. Sure the guy was stoic as hell and not one for sharing his thoughts, but Scott knew what a hardened war veteran looked like, and he didn’t want Danse to become like that. The kid had seen conflict and loss, there was no doubt, but Danse was still fresh, and he could be saved from the same fate that Scott’s colleague encountered. He wouldn’t let Danse become cannon fodder, even if he has to drag the Paladin out of his power armor kicking and screaming. Scott watched Dogmeat nip at Danses’ heels, and seeing as the guy hadn’t kicked the dog yet, he couldn’t be all bad. Dogmeat caught Scott’s eyes and barked excitedly, causing Danse to tense up and raise his pistol. Scott laughed, trying to cover up the sound with his hands so that Danse didn’t snap at him for being unprofessional, or something ridiculous. “Relax, Danse, it’s just Dogmeat,” Scott folded his arms across his chest. “You seriously need to calm down. Not everything around here is a threat, you know,” He took a beat. “I mean, look at me. I’ve survived out here alone for a few weeks now, and all I have is the clothes on my back, two guns, and a dog.”

“Thinking like that will get you killed. You better reassess your idea of the Commonwealth before we reach our destination,” Danse scowled in Scott’s direction, the sentiment lost on him. “I will not hesitate to leave you behind if you prove that you are invaluable.”

“Ouch, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Paladin?” Scott narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if everything I’ve said to try and prove to you that I’m not just some headstrong civvy has gone through one of your ears and out the other, but I’m not helpless. I really thought we had gotten somewhere last night,” Scott unclipped the rifle from his back and stopped for a second. He aimed his sights towards the bridge they were about to pass. “Hold up, Danse, we’ve got company,” Scott stood perfectly still and held his breath before pulling the trigger and landing a bullet right between the eyes of the raider on the bridge. Danse didn’t miss a beat as he loaded his laser rifle and laid into the raiders who were now crawling out from under the bridge like ants. Scott managed to find a decent chunk of rock to snipe from, but kept shifting his eyes to Danse, who was absorbing the bullets fired at him like a sponge. He didn’t budge, but Scott knew that while the Power Armor was durable, it worked like Kevlar in some places, and it would bruise if one wasn’t careful. 

He tried to draw some of the fire from Danse to himself, and succeeded in almost getting his head blown clean off. “Come on you slimy bastards, that can’t be all you’ve got.” Scott whispered to himself. He watched a splatter of blood follow the path of his bullet through a raider’s eye socket, and from behind the wall there was the sound of crudely fashioned Power Armor loading up and exerting steam. Scott had seen some of this type of Power Armor before, but the woman wearing this particular set was a force in of herself. She moved with heavy feet, her Power Armor hissing at the seams and the chain attached to it bouncing off the metal. 

Scott stood, lowering his rifle as he caught sight of the Laser Gatling she had swung around from her back. “Danse!” Scott yelled, trying to get his attention. Scott looked to Dogmeat as he gnawed at the leg of a now defenseless raider. Scott shifted his eyes back to Danse, who was standing his ground. The woman in Power armor laughed, the sound muffled by the helmet she had settled on her shoulders. “Danse, your armor may be strong, but you cant take her head on with only that laser pistol,” Scott yelled, his gaze never leaving Danse’s position. He watched as the Paladin raised his pistol and realized that in this moment, the unmoving force of Paladin Danse was a sign of trust. He believed in Scott’s ability to cover him from the shadows, and Scott couldn’t let him down. He darted through the bushes and lined himself up for a shot that, in theory, would pierce the armor around the woman’s neck and make a clean line through her skin. He closed his eyes, composing himself when he heard the sound of the Gatling being fired up. Quickly, he pushed another round into his rifle and looked down the scope. Danse stood his ground, and when the first shot of the Gatling rang out, and many more immediately followed, Scott tried not to listen to the sound of burning metal that came from Danse’s Power Armor. He took a deep breath and followed the woman in the armor until he had a clean shot. The sound of his rifle was loud and rang out as the raider’s Gatling stopped firing, and the sound of Power Armor hitting the floor followed suit. 

Scott relinquished his hold on his rifle to stand and make sure that Danse was alright. He was relieved to see that while there were scorch marks on his Power Armor, the Paladin seemed unfazed. Scott sighed and smiled, his heart constricted in his chest. Danse reminded him so much of himself during the War. Always willing to go head on into a battle, faith in his comrades to back him up. While it always seemed to work out in his favor, he didn’t know how lucky the two of them would be out here in the Wasteland. Scott held his breath. One day, Danse will be looking for his backup and he might not survive to give it.

Danse looked up to Scott’s position behind a group of rocks, and Dogmeat bounded around his heels. Scott slung the rifle over his shoulder and offered Danse a thumbs up. He slid down the hill and caught his balance as he stumbled towards Danse. “Guess we should see what we can salvage. Maybe that woman who was wearing the power armor was carrying extra fusion cores,” Scott ran his hands through his hair, slicking back any stray pieces, and made his way over to the fallen raiders. It took a moment, but soon he heard the sound of Danse following his footsteps. Scott shifted his gaze over his shoulder, and knelt down next to the armored raider. He removed the extra fusion cell rounds from the Gatling and pocketed them. Sadly the Gatling itself was impractical to steal, so Scott just tossed it aside. Sure enough, there was also a fusion core in her possession. Scott whistled and tossed it over his shoulder. To his amusement, he heard the sound of Danse fumbling with the core and some grunts of frustration before the sound of the core hitting the ground replaced the sounds of struggle, and Danse sighed. Scott spun on his heels and smiled. “So, what happened to being prepared for anything, Mr. Butterfingers?” 

“You find this entertaining,” Danse said, unfazed by Scott’s absolute insubordination. Good, Scott thought, they were starting to understand one another. Scott shrugged and reached for the core before standing and facing Danse. 

“Why don’t I just hold onto this for you.” He packed the fusion core into the supply bag with all the other rations that Haylen had packed for them. Danse didn’t care to argue, and walked past Scott to scan the other raiders. 

Scott followed behind him and picked the raiders clean of any caps, stimpacks, ammo, and questionable meat that they had on them, and shoved it all in the bag.   
“Careful to only take what we need; that pack weighing you down won’t do us any favors,” Danse stopped to watch Scott grab a box of ammunition from the belt of the final raider.  
“It will do us some favors when one of us is bleeding out on the floor and I have the shit to patch us up, tough guy. You may be wearing that fancy Power Armor but if you take any more hits like the ones from that Gatling it will be springing leaks soon,” Scott waved the box of ammo at Danse, and after tossing it into the bag he stood to catch up to the Paladin. “You never know what we will run into at the ArcJet Complex.”

“I know that we won’t run into anything we can’t handle. As long as we have each other’s backs, the mission should prove to be simple and run smoothly,” Danse kept his eyes forward as he responded to Scott, much like he always did, and Scott found himself wanting to have at least a single conversation with the guy without him towering over him all the time. Scott frowned; it must be a control thing, always being above the ones under his command. He readjusted the pack on his shoulder and tried to keep step with Danse. They couldn’t be that far out from ArcJet now, and Scott hoped that when they got there, Danse would be right, and they wouldn’t run into anything that would outmatch them. 

“I’m curious what we are going to find. The girl I passed before I met you at the police station seemed really frightened of whatever it was that was camping out there,” Scott pulled up his Pip-Boy and flipped to the GPS tab, watching the arrow that signified their location as it crawled towards the ArcJet Complex. Danse didn’t reply, and instead pulled his laser rifle closer to his body. Scott’s eyes flicked over to catalogue Danse’s movement, and felt a sense of apprehension. For a moment, Scott entertained the idea that Danse wasn’t as prepared as he portrayed himself to be.


	3. ArcJet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to ArcJet was challenging, but what Scott and Danse find inside is more difficult than anything they have faced together yet. Scott remembers what a frightened girl warned him about the complex, and learns that anything he thought it could have been, it's so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post! I've been working a lot lately and haven't had many days off. I figured I would post this chapter on the last night I had free before getting back to work! I apologize for how long it is, and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I'm glad it's done and ready to be posted!

Danse pushed the door closed behind them as Scott surveyed the lobby of ArcJet. It was falling apart, and the walls and floor had rusted over with extreme weather erosion, but it still looked about as close to the promotional pamphlet as it could after 200 years. He remembered some of his old colleagues being invested in the Deep Range Transmitter that was commissioned here before the war, and was surprised that they hadn’t shipped it out by the time that the bombs fell. “You’re sure for a fact that this place still houses that transmitter? It was supposed to ship out before the war, wasn’t it?” Scott turned to see Danse poised and ready for combat. His lips pulled up at the corner briefly, amused by the Paladin’s quick jump to sweep the area. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to pick a newspaper up off of what used to be the counter of the reception desk. It looked more like the floor of a garage now, cracks through the surface and dust covered leaves caked on the top. The newspaper was from the day that Scott was lowered into the vault, and he had to put it down to keep himself from being sick. He quickly turned back to face Danse, startled when he was met with the face of the Paladin, his hands swapping the weapon for his helmet as Scott was fussing with the newspaper. Danse had moved into his space, Dogmeat at their calves. 

“We aren’t alone,” Danse whispered, his eyes scanning the room. Scott poised up in front of him, readying his weapons for battle, but not dragging them out to firing position. He waited, his eyes following the same path as Danse’s around the central rotunda. There was a metal scraping sound that manifested in the doorway of a room to Scott’s back, and Danse dropped his helmet on the desk and leveled his arm on Scott’s shoulder to snipe into the darkness. “Don’t move,” He instructed. Scott nodded, fixing his eyes on the part of the wall behind the Paladin that he could see. Dogmeat growled as the scraping got closer, and Scott felt Danse’s stance solidify in front of him. He didn’t dare look Danse in the face. 

The scraping continued moving in their direction, and Scott cocked his head in the direction of the noise. His eyes narrowed and he frowned, focusing all he could on the patterns of the scraping. He caught a snag in the movement that caused him to turn his head as far as he could in the direction of the sight on Danse’s gun. “Wait,” Scott whispered. He caught Danse’s eyes flick in his direction out of is peripheral vision and transferred his focus onto the Paladin. “It’s injured, whatever it is. It only has one arm, possibly no legs. It’s dragging across the floor. Aim lower and make sure you catch it in the middle, you will have a straight shot.”

Danse simply nodded. Scott felt him shift his stance a fraction of an inch, the Power Armor’s finger joints digging into his shoulder, the laser pistol humming in his ear. He had never felt this calm in a moment of battle, and in this instance, he wasn’t afraid. Scott took a deep breath when he heard Danse exhale. 

The shot he was expecting never came. He felt Danse relax, and loosen the pressure on Scott’s shoulder. Scott turned, his eyes falling on the source of the dragging metal. He let his eyes slip to the side, and then walked his way over to the mangled shell of a Police Protectron. The robot was missing the entire lower half of it’s exterior, and an entire arm. It was dragging one of it’s legs by a cluster of wires. The destruction was recent, the robot only mangled that day prior to their arrival. Scott reached behind it and pulled a batch of wires from under it’s glass head. The Protectron stopped moving and the exposed parts let out a final plea as they sparked at the ends. Scott stood, turning to Danse. “You’re right. We definitely aren’t alone.”

Danse collected his helmet and made his way past Scott, his eyes never focusing on one part of the room for too long. Scott followed his lead, pulling his pistol out from the holster strap on his leg. 

The stairs that lead to the lower hallways felt claustrophobic, and Scott couldn’t wait until they were out of the enclosed spaces and into a room with something to hide behind, or at least a way to distance themselves from whatever was in here that wanted to attack them. Scott glanced into a few bent doors and into the rooms that were now inaccessible. They were pitch black, and a great place to hide if the danger had been small enough to fit through the cracks. 

Scott stuck close to Danse, keeping his back to the Paladin as he took up the rear. The sound of Power Armor boots came to a halt, and Scott backed into the fusion core in Danse’s armor. He spun around, ready for a fight, and instead lowered his gun in disbelief. His eyes scanned the room of what used to be Protectron Pods. Each one smashed, and the Protectrons that were once housed inside now turned to variations of twisted metal. He slid past Danse and into the room. The housing units for Protectrons were strong, impossible to break through without significant strength or weaponry. Scott turned to Danse, desperate to lighten the mood so he could wrap his head around what happened in that room. “Looks like we missed the party,” He laughed nervously. Danse didn’t seem amused.

“It was Synths,” He stated, his face stoic and his eyes roving around the debris. 

“It was what?” Scott holstered his gun, bending down to run his fingers across a pile of ash and larger bits of metal plating. It was almost as if it had been turned to dust, even though it was a sturdy piece of government-issue machinery. He twisted on his heels to make eye contact with Danse once more.

“Synths,” Danse didn’t elaborate, his thoughts dragged in a different direction. Scott could see him running possible scenarios in his head. 

“Danse, focus. I need you to explain to me what’s going on,” Scott stepped in his direction, and his foot caught on a piece of metal. Danse jumped, his pistol coming to his chest and his pupils blown. Scott raised his arms. “Just me,” He raised his eyebrows in Danse’s direction. “You look just like that girl did when I asked her what she was so spooked about. What are these Synths, Danse?” 

“The institute created them. Androids that are almost perfect replicas of the human race. They are abominations and threaten the Commonwealth,” Danse clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the pistol in his hands. 

Scott put some of the pieces together in his head, his mind mapping out different possibilities for why Danse hated the Synths so much in relation to the small bits of information he had happened to pull out of the Paladin. “You’re afraid of them,” Scott stated, his eyes never leaving Danse’s face. He waited for a reaction, something to indicate he was right. When Danse didn’t meet his gaze, Scott had his answer. He frowned.

“They’re dangerous. Keep your guard up,” Danse finally spoke, his arms holding his laser pistol at the ready, the Power Armor keeping it as level as possible. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Scott whispered, nudging Danse in the direction of the next doorframe by invading his proximity. “I’ve got your back,” He added as an afterthought, his heart telling him that there was no way either of them could go in there solo. Danse took the push and continued into the lower workings of the Arc Jet complex. Scott brought up the rear with his bottom lip crushed between his teeth, his mind trying to catalogue every sound and sight as thoroughly as possible. Those Protectrons never had a chance, and Scott figured that two humans and a dog wouldn’t fare any better. 

The way down was dark and musty, the water having made its way through the pipes and into the architecture of the building as the years have progressed. Scott was careful to step around any fallen debris and rubble that littered the floor. He snagged his leg on a piece of the wall that had come unbolted and winced, the blood staining the blue fabric of his Vault Suit. He looked up to make sure that Danse hadn’t heard him, and let out the breath he had been holding when he confirmed that he was in the clear. They couldn’t be stopping here for anything minor, they were too exposed in such a confined space for it to be safe. 

Scott spotted an open door to his left that lead into a small closet space, and shined the light from his Pip-Boy into the darkness. He paused as a skeleton that was hunched over in the corner shifted against the settling foundation, his nerves frayed and ready to fire. Danse stopped walking and turned to face Scott, where he was frozen in place. Scott finally lowered the gun after being satisfied that the skeleton wouldn’t suddenly get up and start following him after he turned around. “You never know with this damn place, the skeletons could be ready to get up and attack you at any moment. We all know corpses do it, and these bones aren’t a far stretch from the Ghouls,” He laughed uncomfortably, taking a final glance at the off kilter skeleton. 

“I can confirm that in all the years I’ve lived in the Commonwealth, the only bones that ever followed me was a dog named Bones who lived in the belly of the Prydwyn several years ago. I believe it is safe to catalogue that skeleton as deceased,” Danse humored Scott for a moment, which left Scott off balance, his mind buzzing to try and find something to say. He didn’t know Danse had a funny atom in his body, and it was more startling than a giant scorpion to hear him make a joke. He figured they were both on edge and could use whatever distraction they could find. Sure, Danse’s humor was dry and would fly over the head of a normal human being, but he was genuinely trying to get along with Scott to make this mission less miserable, and Scott believed that they were beginning to trust one another even just a little bit more. It made him smile.

Danse finally turned to continue down the hallway and into a much wider space that spiraled downwards into a tower-like structure with metal scaffolding. It was falling apart and there seemed to be a large rocket engine suspended from the ceiling. Scott paused at the top of the scaffolding and admired the feat of engineering before them. “They were looking into space travel…” He said, his voice quiet and filled with awe. The world was so close to expanding, and it ended up destroying itself instead. “We could have gone so far someday.”

“Let’s move on, recruit,” Danse called from a few flights below. Dogmeat had decided to trail at his heels, and barked up at Scott when Danse had called for him. Scott took a final glance at the rocket and let his eyes trail as he made his way down to where Danse was. They jumped down from the scaffolding and onto an ashen ground, where they had been doing tests for the propulsion of the rocket. Scott bent down and ran his fingers through the black dust. It coated his hand with burnt material and residue from the rocket’s engine. He wished he could have seen that future instead of the one he was thrown into in the Commonwealth. Danse scanned the room for any signs of danger, and called for Scott’s name when he reached the doors of an elevator. Scott tore himself away from his thoughts and joined Danse at the lift. “I’m not much of an engineer, but I believe we might be able to get this elevator working again to make it further into the complex,” Danse motioned to the unlit lift buttons. Scott examined the elevator, and then finally made his way through a pair of double doors at the other side of the room that lead to a control room. 

He checked the panel, and pressed a few buttons. The terminal that was imbedded in the controls was off, all the lights around the border of it dim. “There’s got to be a breaker switch in here somewhere,” Scott paced the room, his eyes lying on a large yellow power bank on the back wall. It housed a Fusion Core, and was connected to a wall breaker. “Bingo,” He grinned, reaching to pull the Fusion Core out of the slot and flip the switch. The lower level of the facility whirred to life, and Scott made his way back to the window to signal a success to Danse. 

However, when he reached the window, Danse was busy trying to fight off what Scott assumed was a Synth that had jumped from the rafters. He yelled to Scott.

“Stay there! Don’t move,” Danse blasted the Synth with his laser pistol, and three more dropped to the ground. Dogmeat stood behind Scott and barked, too frightened to leave his side. Scott looked to the door, debating whether or not to run out and help, when Danse spoke up again. “The rocket! Does it fire?” He commanded, taking a moment to glance back at Scott. Scott searched the control panel and flipped a few switches. Each one lit up a corresponding green light. Scott backed away as a loud voice came through the speakers.

“Engine test primed and ready. Fire at will.” When the voice finished its lines, a case housing a red button opened up, and the button flashed, signaling it was standing by for ignition.  
Scott paused for a moment. The voice repeated the message. 

“Scott!” Danse yelled to him again, sending a Synth sprawling across the room.

“Yes, it fires!” Scott yelled back, watching as Danse pulled his helmet back over his head in a moment of calm among the dozens of Synths jumping at him from all sides. Scott felt his stomach give out.

“Then do it!” Danse called, turning to face Scott completely. A synth grabbed him from behind, as another ran at him from his right. Scott hesitated before pressing the button. As the engine ignited and the Synths continued to pile on top of the Paladin, Scott felt his legs go numb and his mind refused to believe that he was experiencing this moment. He heard the expression of pain from Danse’s location among the flames, and ran from the control room to the hallway leading to the double doors. The engine test seemed to go on for what felt like an eternity. Danse’s cries melded with the cries of the men on the battlefield at Anchorage, and Scott was having a hard time separating the two pleas for help. His ears were ringing and he wanted every sound in the universe to stop for just a second to let him breathe.

When the flames ceased, Scott had to catch his bearings before running out among the charred remains of the Synths. Danse was kneeling in the middle of the room, his armor fried and his breaths heavy. He was hunched over at the shoulders, and Scott tried to hold him up the best he could. He unclipped the helmet to his armor and tossed it to the side, allowing Danse to take in some air that wasn’t constricted by the enclosed space. The Paladin was leaning into Scott, who was glad the armor wasn’t all just dead weight. 

“Are you alright, Danse?” Scott whispered, concerned. He was angry at himself for listening to Danse’s command to ignite the engine, he was angry at Danse for giving the command without thinking of the consequences. Scott grit his teeth. “Paladin Danse?” He shook Danse’s shoulders, urging him to speak. Danse groaned, and he brought his hand up to cradle his head. 

“Yes,” He spoke through the smoke lining his throat. “I will be alright,” Danse made a motion to stand, his body still not strong enough to support the whole weight of the armor and his own mass. Scott attempted to steady him. 

“We are almost there, we’ve just got to get to the elevator. Can you walk?”

Danse nodded curtly, picking up one heavy leg and dropping it in front of the other, making his way to the elevator doors. Scott pushed him along, his strength not nearly enough to be any significant help. 

The elevator ride was stuffy, Danse’s armor taking up the majority of the space. It radiated heat that had accumulated in the metal hull of it, and Scott felt his own core temperature rising. He couldn’t wait to get out of the elevator and into a space where he could cool off as much as possible. He wanted to yell at Danse, to tell him he almost made the worst call of his life. The elevator made everything he was feeling in that moment rise to the surface. His anger, his concern, his fear; all he could do was grip the armor plating harder. The metal was almost too hot for his hands. 

Dogmeat leaned back on his haunches and snarled as the elevator reached its destination. Scott barely had time to look over to him before the doors slid open and a half-dozen synths turned to face them. Scott released Danse—who was able to right himself on his own—and pulled out his pistol. 

Dogmeat led the way into the room full of Synths, and weaved expertly between the shots from their laser pistols. A few shots grazed Dogmeat’s fur, and he yelped in discomfort. Scott followed Dogmeat into the room, and they double teamed a few Synths, but not before taking a hefty beating from all of them. A red laser discharge broke apart the blinding sea of blue, and Scott glanced back to see that Danse had moved from the elevator to provide cover fire. He sighed in relief, and it gave him a moment to catch his breath. It also gave all of his bruises and wounds a moment to catch up with him, and he hunched over in pain.

Scott finally elbowed a Synth to the ground and fired a shot through its forehead. One by one the Synths fell with the added help from Danse, and Scott was relieved when he finally downed the last one. His body ached, and he just wanted to be back on the surface and away from the killer robots.

“Search the area for the Long Range Transmitter. They must have been here for it too,” Danse nodded to the graveyard of skeletons, and Scott stepped around them carefully, looking on the desks for the transmitter. 

“Dogmeat,” Scott called to the Shepard and he bounded over, nose in the air. “Search around, bring me something interesting,” Scott smiled, his eyes dancing across all of the surfaces.  
Finally, Dogmeat spoke up. Scott jogged to his position, and found that the Synth with the most armor, likely the leader, had a satchel. Scott knelt beside it and rummaged through the bag, pulling what he believed to be the transmitter from it.

“This it?” Scott held up a square module, glancing down at where Danse stood on a lower platform of the room. 

“That’s it.”

“Great, let’s get out of here,” Scott pocketed the transmitter and motioned to the door at the end of the room.


	4. History of Greatness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott shares a bit of history, but Danse isn't up for a lesson he doesn't want to hear. Scott feels remorse for raising his voice, but doesn't entirely regret the much needed mental purge he tossed into Danse's lap. Danse is a man of little words when he's being confronted, but Scott believes he's crossed a line with this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this is consistent, I've been so swamped recently I've been having a hard time finding the hours I need to write this story,,,, Anyway, here is chapter four! A bit of a background episode, and a "bonding" moment for the two boys. Hope everyone enjoys it, I'm having a lot of fun getting to write this, I love letting Scott monologue

There had been rain pounding on the roof ever since Scott and Danse had fought their way back up to the surface of the ArcJet building. Danse had disengaged his Power Armor and was slumped over on the edge of an old couch. Scott glanced back at him before going to the front door and cracking it open to see how bad the storm was. He frowned, watching as a bolt of lightning ricocheted off the clouds, the green hue of the land causing his Geiger counter to protest and his skin to tingle. The rain pelted his arms and face as he leaned out the door to get a better look. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He felt it all the way to his bones, and against his better judgment, he wished to go outside. 

“You should close that unless you have a death wish,” Danse spoke up from behind him. Scott flinched and took one last moment to survey the land before shutting the door, his bruises causing his skin to ache at any sudden movement.

“What the hell kind of storm is that?” He asked. The Wasteland wasn’t much different than the world before in regards to politics, people, and war, but the weather continued to fascinate him. Danse ran his hands over the bandage he was applying to his arm, and shot Scott a look of confusion, but continued to explain anyway. 

“Radiation storm. They ride in from the south. From the Glowing Sea,” Danse tied off the wrap and ripped the excess with his teeth. When Scott was silent, Danse took that moment to elaborate. “The Glowing Sea has been around ever since I can remember, and probably since many of the people alive today were born. It’s a dangerously irradiated section of the Commonwealth and it’s ill advised to travel too far into it. The land there got the worst of the radiation and it’s not only heavily nuclear, there are creatures there that wish nothing more than to rip you apart.”

Scott pulled up his Pip-Boy to find the Glowing Sea. He drew a line with his finger from where he knew Vault 111 was, all the way down to a giant crater in the topography. “The bomb,” Scott mumbled.

“What?” Danse looked up from his arm and narrowed his eyes. Scott thought for a moment before deciding it would be wise to continue to speak, regardless of what his mind was telling him.

“That’s where it fell… the nuke,” He dropped to the couch a few feet away from Danse and rested the Pip-Boy in his lap. He didn’t meet Danse’s eyes as he continued to speak, lost in thought and a vague memory of the day he entered Vault 111. “We could see it from the top of the Vault. There were so many people behind us, and when we stood on the platform for the final descent there was a flash of light, a cloud rising from the ground… And then they sent us down right before the shockwave rushed over the ground above us…” He closed his eyes, “I saw it, Danse, I saw the end of the world,” Scott took this moment to meet Danse’s gaze. He was probably the only person alive now that had seen it happen, the only one who would ever know how the Glowing Sea came to exist. 

“What are you talking about, Warren?” Danse shifted to face Scott, curiosity taking over some of his soldier-like demeanor. Scott took a deep breath and spun his wedding ring around his finger. It felt heavy, like a brick weighing him to the past, but he couldn’t let it go. He remembered Nora, how scared she was on the descent into the Vault, holding Shaun close to her chest. He had wanted to take her hand, to tell her it was going to be alright, but that bomb was scarier than anything he had ever seen in battle, more than he could ever imagine in one of his worst nightmares. 

He remembered his feelings vividly in every situation where he had ever faced death, and his chest constricted under the weight of loss. Not only his personal loss, but the knowledge of those around him that didn’t make it. 

Scott’s ability to block out most of the details of his past in the war—his past on the day the bombs fell—was slipping fast with each moment he spent in Danse’s company. He was finally around someone who had shared experiences, and it made Scott’s hands shake. It made him want to tell Danse everything, even though they barely knew each other. He wanted to tell Danse not only for his own sake, but for the Paladin’s as well, so that he would never make the same mistakes. Scott could feel the pain of regret surfacing with each heartbeat. Things he had never had the chance to do before waking in the Commonwealth; things he must do now that he is here. 

He’s no hero, but he will do his best to make sure that the world Shaun will grow up in here will be better than the world he grew up in and saw fall to it’s knees. There was too much power in the old world, and he would do anything to stop the people here from destroying the opportunity that they have to begin anew and make something better. 

“Scott,” Danse’s soft-spoken concern lifted Scott from his thoughts. He was holding onto his fingers so tight that his knuckles had turned white, his nails digging into his palms and drawing blood. His eyes had to readjust to the lack of light in the room. Danse hadn’t moved from his side. “I speculate that you have something more to share?” 

Scott took a breath and recomposed himself, deciding what to divulge and what to keep secret for a later time. Finally, he had come to a decision about the details and decided to simply start from the beginning; where he had changed into the man he was today. He realized now that he was not truly the man that Nora married, and he never was. War had him by the neck and would hang him until he accepted it. Scott licked his lips and rested his hand over his forehead. He felt it was his duty to reveal all potentially compromising secrets, but his emotions were clearly more against the idea. He felt a flash of misdirected anger take over. “How much do you know about the world before the Wasteland?” Scott asked, holding tightly to his temper.

“We are required a basic understanding of our past and how we came to be. The world from before the war is something that we don’t generally burden ourselves with,” Danse recalled the various conversations he had heard back when he was just an initiate, how the scribes and knights would talk about the war like it was the founding of the Brotherhood and that the event was all it was good for. That nothing truly mattered before the Brotherhood. Scott clenched his teeth, letting himself use Danse's inadequate education as an excuse to raise his voice.

“The world before the war is something that everyone should be concerned with. It should be taught in every school and gossiped about in every political circle in the Commonwealth and the rest of the world. It’s a reminder of how this world we live in now came into existence. A cautionary tale to never treasure power before understanding the burden of it,” Scott took a deep breath, not wanting to go into a history lesson, but seeing no other way to proceed so that his story added up. “Before the Brotherhood was around, there was something called the United States Army. I served with them in the Battle of Anchorage during the Sino-American War. It was our first attempt to defend our nation against the onslaught of Chinese advances,” Scott kept his focus on his hands, trying to ground himself to the present. To remind himself that the past is just that, and that it can’t hurt him in the present.

“If you have a point, make it with haste. I do not need you to lecture me on a history which I did not partake in,” Danse cut Scott off before he could delve too far into his story. 

Scott could feel that anger inside of him flare up again, he wanted to yell at Danse, even though none of this was his fault. He had nothing to do with why the world went to shit, and he had nobody to tell him that the war was important before Scott came along. But still, Scott was furious, “There is a point to this, Paladin, I assure you,” He clenched his jaw. “You keep calling me a civilian, subconsciously questioning my ability to serve a cause and take orders. I’m only going to tell you one last time that I am not a civilian. I have most likely faced more combat than you have, and I believe I have proved it to you on multiple occasions,” Scott narrowed his eyes, piercing Danse’s control with his own intensity. “I was a General, Paladin, not sure if you know what that _really_ means, so I will enlighten you. I had men under my command; I lost men under my command,” Scott raised his voice. “I was given a responsibility that no person should ever have. To be in command of someone else’s life, to make the decision whether to soldier on and leave people behind or to spend hours and resources looking for a way to bring everyone home even when you know it’s not possible. To make the call on a _kid_ who was conscripted into war without a _choice_ and tell your men to pull the trigger. To be taught that the one's you are fighting are in the wrong when both sides are beating each other to meaningless death. Having to write letters of condolences to entire families telling them their daughter or son won't make it home for dinner. Being the one who has to willingly send soldiers to their death so others might survive. I made the call that got all my men killed, with the knowledge that there was only a slight chance of success because I was the one they looked to for victory,” Scott leaned into the Paladin’s space, pulling the corners of his mouth into a frown. “Out of my battalion, I was the only one who survived, and I had to live with that for the rest of my life,” He just wanted Danse to understand. He wanted Danse to realize that whatever front he was trying to put up, it wasn’t going to hold, and whatever greatness he thought the world could become with the Brotherhood in power would not come to pass by more innocent people ending up dead. Scott wanted Danse to step down and stop making rash decisions, to listen with reason to someone other than his own righteousness. “Losing people isn’t cause to give up on something and run head first into a situation where you could willingly stand on death's door when the others who are still in your company need you.” 

Scott heard Danse’s voice in his head, the command to ignite the engine even though he was still in the room. The feeling of once again taking an order instead of giving it, the amount of blind faith put into those who hold rank. He hated that feeling. “You could have died. You put so much faith into that armor of yours that I’m beginning to think that you do it as a way to prove to yourself that you _don’t_ want to die. You’re not God damn invincible,” Scott glanced past Danse at where the charred Power Armor was folded in on itself, the chest plate faintly displaying the Brotherhood seal. Scott frowned. “You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that I’ve come from the same place you have. I’m thinking that my experience in the war, and witnessing the bombs decimating our way of life some 200 years ago was a coincidence that I didn’t deserve, and just as I didn’t deserve to see death in those moments, you don’t deserve to see it now. Nobody does. War will change a person, but the real question is, will you give in and become it’s prisoner like I have,” Scott stood, unhooking his Pip-Boy and tossing it on the couch near their pack of supplies. He grit his teeth together. “Danse, this world we live in is a grim reminder of who we once were, and who we must _never_ become again. We won't get a third try at fixing our world,” Danse’s eyes followed him, and for once, he was silent. Scott sighed. None of that went the way he wanted it to. He never intended to raise his voice, to let his anger get the best of him, but Danse was the first person in a long time that he felt would truly understand what he was going through. He wanted a do-over, but that was something that wouldn’t be possible. It was going to be a long night.

“Warren,” Danse finally said, his voice tough, struggling to hold onto his position in command after Scott single handedly destroyed everything he had built up over the years. He wasn’t like any of the other Scribes, and if Danse brought him into the Brotherhood, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep an obedient head to Elder Maxson. Scott was quickly becoming a beacon for everything that should be present in a soldier of high command.

“What is it, Paladin?” Scott tossed Dogmeat a chunk of roasted Molerat and unzipped his Vault suit. Danse was quiet for a long moment, and Scott scoffed. Danse sighed.  
“Goodnight, Scott,” Danse finally said, his voice level and understanding.

Scott lay down on his back on a couch across the room, crushingly full of regret for snapping at Danse. Dogmeat curled at his feet, and Scott closed his eyes. He was aware that Danse was watching him, and he was aware that Danse was doing his best to be a team player. Sure Scott was still angry at him for risking his life, for not trusting Scott in the field after a seemingly well fought battle against the Raiders earlier that day, but it was the first time in a while he truly felt like he was in good company. Something about the Synths had triggered a switch in Danse, and while Scott was all about prying for information, he wasn’t going to subject the Paladin to something he didn’t want to talk about, he knew that feeling all too well. He sighed. Scott felt guilty that for the first few talks they’ve had, he basically ended up lecturing Danse. But if the Paladin really hated it, Scott would have been relieved of this mission, or at the very worst a steaming pile of ash on the ground. 

He made a mental note that the next time they spoke to each other, Scott would try and learn just a little bit about Danse instead of running his mouth. They both have a past that’s unfavorable, and it’s not fair for Scott to assume he would have the upper hand in that pity party. They might end up working together, and anything they could share with a clear conscience and without raising their voices would be a good asset to have in battle. Being in synch with a comrade is what keeps people alive, and Scott knew that all too well. 

Scott woke in the middle of the night to hollers of pain and sorrow. Nothing like what he was subject to in the Police Station the previous night. These nightmares were worse, and Scott could hear an angry scrambling at the front door. “Ghouls,” He whispered. Dogmeat hopped off the couch and began to growl. “Shh, boy, don’t call any more attention to us,” Scott flung his legs off the side of the cushions and glanced to where Danse was grabbing at the air above him. He yelled for people that Scott didn’t know, but Scott could draw up very clear visuals of fallen men in armor, the hulls of the chest plate cracked and blood seeping out. He wondered if Danse was reliving moments like those. Scott grabbed for his gun as the pounding on the door grew louder, and glanced at Dogmeat. “There’s gotta be at least 20 ghouls out there… There’s no way we can take them all on alone,” He thought for a moment before dropping his gun and sliding to Danse’s side. He was going to have to do something that should never be done to a man trapped in a nightmare; he was going to have to try and wake Danse.

His hands hovered above the Paladin’s shoulder, unsteady, not wanting to cause any harm to Danse in the process of pulling him from his dreams. Scott flinched as he heard metal creaking and moaning under the weight of the storm and the Ghouls pressing for entrance. He gently lowered a hand to brush at Danse’s arm, earning him an unwelcome response and knuckles to the cheek. 

Scott tipped back, catching himself with his hands. He raised a palm to his face, feeling a welt beginning to form where Danse’s knuckles made contact with his cheekbone. Danse continued to toss in his sleep, his forehead sweaty and his eyes screwed shut. Scott took a deep breath, bracing himself for a second attempt. There had to be an opening before he could try anything, and when Danse lay straight on his back, his arms outstretched, Scott pressed both hands to Danse’s chest. The heels of his palms dug into Danse’s sternum, and Scott hoped it would trick his brain into regaining consciousness; that his body would react to physical pain. As Danse jerked into a sitting position, trying to catch his breath, the Ghouls continued to pound at the door.

Danse was silent. His pupils were blown when he opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to register his surroundings. His arms and hands were shaking, his whole system in shock. Scott put his hands on Danse’s arms to steady him, drawing his attention towards Scott. 

“Danse,” Scott followed Danse’s movements, trying to stay in front of his eyes. “I need you to be quiet. Your nightmares have drawn Ghouls to our location, but I believe if we are silent and don’t make any sudden movements, they will go away,” Scott glanced back at the door. Danse seemed to register what he had been saying, but his thoughts were still back on whatever his nightmare was about. Scott felt horrible for waking him, since the nightmare will haunt him forever, burned into his memory from the sudden shift to consciousness, but there was no other choice. He just hoped he would be forgiven.

Danses eyes fell to the door, and he inhaled sharply. Scott leaned back on his heels and reached for his gun again. He hoped his theory was right, or they will have a fight on their hands that they aren’t prepared to handle. The doors dented in, and Scott clenched his rifle tighter.


	5. Looking in a Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has been plagued by the name Sole Survivor his whole life. Sometimes it comes back to haunt him in the worst ways possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA its been a while, I have once again been busy with a ton of stuff, but here is chapter 5! Enjoy! A bit more of Scott's perspective and a first hand experience of how his past teams up with the present to make his life a living hell.

The pounding on the door continued for what seemed like hours. Scott was on one knee, his back pushed into the couch that Danse was still perched on, leaning on his elbows staring at the latches on the metal doors. Scott could feel Danse behind him, his presence was supportive, even if he wasn’t currently posed for combat. The rain hadn’t let up, a fitting sound scape that echoed around them as they sat silently. Scott felt this would have been a good place to crack a joke, make light of the situation, but he didn’t dare make a sound. The only noise he cautiously allowed was the groaning and hissing of the Ghouls outside the door, their breath being pushed through the gaps in their teeth. Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the sight was outside, the Ghouls climbing over one another to try their shot at the door, with the only motivation moving their fried minds being the two live food sources inside the building. 

It wasn’t uncommon in Scott’s history to see people blinded by greed and want so powerful that they would claw their way through fences with torches just to get to the subject of their desire or hatred. He witnessed civilians tear each other down, trample one another just for the promise of food or water. Riots in shopping centers over prices of necessities broke out and people were reduced to survival instincts. Images from before the war, from the era of the “American Dream” crept back into Scott’s mind, and he remembered having to shove his pistol at children, telling them to back off or risk being shot. 

“Warren,” Danse never took his eyes away from the door. He reached for his laser pistol on the table. Somehow, Danse’s voice changed everything, and Scott felt his muscles relax. He was focused back on reality.

“Who would’ve thought we’d wake the dead?” He glanced back at Danse, who had shifted on the couch, attempting to make as little noise as possible on the ancient furniture. Scott took a deep breath, adjusting his finger on the side of the rifle and letting a smirk form on his lips. Dogmeat continued to growl low at Scott’s side. 

“They aren’t zombies, Warren,” Danse whispered, and Scott’s smile faltered as he rolled his eyes. 

“Back with that hardline logic, huh? I thought I had gotten through to you tonight, that maybe you would loosen up and see eye to eye with me for once.” He meant it as a joke, but Danse clearly didn’t understand the sentiment.

“Can we not do this right now, recruit?” Danse got up from the couch to stand at Scott’s right, his pistol armed and ready. Scott caught Danse falter, his jaw tight and his muscles still working to recover from the nightmare that must still be overpowering his capability to stand steady, no matter how much Danse wanted Scott to believe he was still in charge. 

Scott felt the words all the way to his bones, what he thought was a moment they shared, no matter how harsh, was apparently nothing to Danse. Scott scowled. Nothing had changed. Did Danse even remember what he had said? His aim faltered and he had to look away from the door to gather his thoughts. Maybe Danse really was just a soldier, conditioned to feel nothing in the face of battle. Scott wondered if there was still the possibility that Danse would turn on him. That this whole thing would be considered a waste of time and he would be better off a dead man than a loose end. 

Scott wasn’t sure if the pounding on the door had dispersed, or whether he had just blocked it out with other thoughts. Everything seemed to blur together, each moment seamlessly connecting to the last. The Ghouls shuffled off, the growls of frustration lost on the door they couldn’t budge. Eventually, they were in the clear, and Scott could feel the awkward silence hanging between them. He hadn’t met Danse’s eyes through the whole altercation, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to now. Scott had imagined their next few interactions being civil, almost friendly, but now he realized it was always going to be a power struggle between the two of them. His eyes flicked towards the door, the metal permanently bulging inwards on the atrium of Arc Jet. Scott and Danse were both used to a position of power, and while Danse had given him a taste of what taking orders again was like, Scott wasn’t fond of it, and he knew he never would be. 

He had found a bit of himself in Danse, wishing to share the feeling of loss, of being a soldier, but all Danse saw was a potential addition to an army. Scott hadn’t been looking for sympathy or empathy, for admiration or adoration, but something along the lines of acknowledgement and respect would have been nice. Instead, he got pushed under a thumb even when he was in the position of saving Danse’s life. Scott grit his teeth to mask his frustration which culminated because of his thoughts, and turned around to face Danse. “Well, that went better than expected,” He tried to smile, hoisting his rifle onto his shoulder. Danse looked in his direction, not completely giving Scott his full attention.

“Get some rest, we move out at dawn,” Danse was rigid, his arms at his side, and Scott went back to the couch, disappointed. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but even though he was upset that Danse was shutting him out still, he wanted to keep trying. 

Danse was committed to being just another gear in the machine, and Scott wanted to change that more than anything.

-

Dawn took forever to peek over the horizon, Scott only getting a bit of sleep before having to rise once again from the couch. He sighed as he strapped on his PipBoy and got a look at the time. The sun seemed to rise earlier in the Commonwealth than it had before the end of the world. Scott glanced in the direction that Danse had been sleeping the night before, and stood quickly when he saw that the Paladin was no longer in his place on the couch. Dogmeat was also nowhere to be found. Scott spun around to check for the Power Armor where it was folded in on itself the night before, reaching for his gun when that too was missing. “Dogmeat? Paladin Danse?” He called, receiving an answer only from his own echo. The walls creaked around him, sprouting wire and old structure. The integrity of the building was overtaken by rust and dirt. The settling beams and metal paneling was unsettling when he was alone, he felt trapped by the enormous size of the building. 

He rushed outside, swinging the doors open to a hazy green and brown landscape. Spores clouded the air and the trees were mossy, irradiated vegetation hanging off of the dead branches. The sun was barely over the horizon, the world around him still trapped in a black veil of clouds. He could hear his own breathing, his heart pounding in his ears. He knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. A crow, missing feathers and eyes bulging out from it’s head, cawed at him from the top of a dead tree. Scott moved in its direction, trying to get a read on his surroundings. He felt lost, and he was scared of whatever would be lurking in the darkness. He had been living in the wasteland for several weeks now, accustomed to the noises and lack thereof in certain places. This was different, it was too quiet after the Ghoul attack and storm earlier that night.

There was a flash of blue to his right, but when he turned to aim his sights at it, the light was gone. It was replaced with rustling behind him, the sound of metal creaking and unoiled hinges shifting in their casings. Scott pulled his rifle closer to his body. “Who’s there?” He asked, his mouth dry, words full of fear. 

He pulled the trigger wildly, aiming at the thing that came out of the bushes after him. It was fast, too fast to see clearly. Scott spun in circles, searching for the assailant. He swung his gun around in front of him, aiming at nothing and hoping to find something by chance. He caught sight of it too late. It’s foot connected with Scott’s stomach and sent him flying through the air. Scott could feel his chest expel all of the breath that had been held inside it when the heavy blow hurled him up in the air. His vision went blurry, painting overlapping images and disorienting him. He skidded to a stop against something hard, relieved to be able to catch his breath, but too afraid to turn and see what it was. Scott could smell the sudden tang of blood in the air; he could feel it seeping through his vault suit. His vision was still blurry, continuing to try and compete with the force of the impact trauma on his body. A pair of rusty footsteps entered his vision, walking towards him with strong purpose. They were covered in frayed wires, twisted metal, and leather. He tried to lift his head to see what the feet belonged to, but felt a shooting pain at any large movement. He stayed put, hoping by some miracle he would get out of this alive.

A voice finally spoke above him. “Your fault…” It said, metallic and angry. “Your… fault…” It kicked Scott’s side once again, turning him over and forcing blood up his throat. He coughed, adding copper vomit to the pool of blood below him. He caught a glimpse of an armored hand, fingers splayed open and cracked. His eyes followed it up the armor, leading him to Danse’s face. He was bruised, bleeding from deep wounds. Scott fell back on his hands. He saw a huge hole in the center of the brotherhood seal on the Power Armor, blood staining the crest and dripping through the cracks. 

He caught sight of Dogmeat, whimpering beyond Danse’s body, his legs twitching and unable to move. Scott couldn’t form words, his heart pounding. The voice spoke up again, but from another direction. “Your fault… Scott Warren…” It said. An army of metallic rusty voices followed, all repeating the same words, Your fault… Your fault… Your fault. Scott screamed, pounding his fists on the outside of Danse’s Power Armor. 

“Danse! Get up!” He yelled, his hands becoming littered with deep cuts from the sharp edges of the gutted Power Armor. He heard the sound of bombs dropping from planes above him, the whirring sound of the canisters falling to earth. He could see them, green shells with yellow bands, a hazard symbol on the side. He could visualize the propellers of the bombers, hear them vibrating loudly through the sky. There were men yelling all around him, all in Brotherhood armor. Their chest plates were smeared with blood, their helmets covered in dirt and weapons out of ammo. Each one fell heavily to the ground, one after the other as their armor broke into pieces and they were no longer protected against the onslaught of weapons. The ground shook as the planes fell to the Earth, bursting into flames around him. There was faint yelling coming from every direction. Scott’s eyes widened and he shoved at Danse’s body again. 

“The only survivor… once again,” A different voice joined the chorus, and Scott looked up to see that all of the Synths that had gathered before him bore an uncanny resemblance to himself.   
“No death for you… Scott Warren…” His arms and legs were pinned down, the bone underneath being held with enough pressure to snap them at will. The synths filled his field of vision, trapping him. He was staring up at his own face, the face from before the war, from before his deployment in Anchorage. The synths all laughed, mocked him, reminded him of his life before all of this, and how it was all gone now. He tried to raise his arms above his face, but the Synths were stronger than he was by a long shot. He lost sight of Danse, of Dogmeat, of the world around him. It all went black.

-

Scott was thrown back into the real world, his forehead sweaty and his hands shaking. He sat bolt upright and looked around. “A nightmare…” He sighed in relief. Danse and Dogmeat were nowhere to be found, but Danse’s Power Armor was still standing in its place. Scott quickly jumped from the couch and stumbled out the doors. He threw them open to the view of a bright sunrise, the sky pink and blue and the sun way over the horizon.

Danse didn’t turn around or acknowledge Scott. Dogmeat was laying on his back, his tongue out, embracing the sun. Scott could feel his heartbeat slow and his breathing catch up to it’s normal pace. 

“What happened to leaving at dawn?” Scott asked, his voice still low and unsure of whether this was reality or not. 

“I saw that you didn’t sleep much last night… It would have been unfavorable for you to be tired and unprepared for the journey back. Without proper rest, the probability of you making a deadly mistake increases by 30%,” Danse set his laser pistol on the ground beside him and turned to look at Scott over his shoulder. 

“What makes you so sure I got better sleep after you left to sit out here?” Scott asked, unsure of whether Danse had heard him yelling from out here. 

“I’m not,” Danse faced the horizon again, turning his face away from Scott’s line of sight. If Danse had heard him, he wasn’t going to say anything about it. Scott wasn’t really in the mood to try and explain his nightmare either. He wasn’t sure it was appropriate. His entrance through the doors had to have been enough to key in that there had been something wrong. But Danse had the conscience to remain silent about it. Scott appreciated it for the most part. 

“Well, we better get moving then,” Scott sighed, taking in the sunrise.

“I think that we are able to spare a moment longer before heading back,” Danse motioned for Scott to sit on the steps beside him. Scott looked over to where Danse was offering him a bit of the package of Dandy Boy Apples from his pouch. Scott smiled.


	6. Bridging Gaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Danse meet an unlikely new member of their team as they head into Diamond City, and Danse realizes he doesn't actually know that much about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Long time no update!!! Sorry folks, it took me a while to write this chapter for some reason, but here it is!! A bit of an interim chapter, but I promise the good stuff starts next chapter B)

“Join the Brotherhood,” Danse spoke up from Scott’s right. “I will back you up the whole way. It would be nice to have someone as capable as you on my team.”

Scott gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He had no idea what to say, so he just nodded. Dogmeat chirped in front of him, bounding after a bloated insect of some sort. Scott cleared his throat, looking up at Danse with an unsure smile. “Yeah. Sure, it would be an honor, Paladin.”

They stood at the entrance of the Cambridge Police Station, Scott leaning next to Danse against the walls, who still managed to make him feel small even out of power armor. Scott shifted his weight onto his left foot, crossing his arms. “Y’know, I never actually expected you to ask me to join. I had made plans to set off to Diamond City,” Scott took a deep breath. “I’ve… got some unfinished business to take care of there.”

“I’m sure the Brotherhood would be willing to help you with anything you need,” Danse looked over to Scott, a genuine offer.

Scott laughed a bit. “I was hoping to keep it a bit low key, considering the nature of it…” He paused, looking back to where Dogmeat was busy pulling wings off the insect. “I would appreciate… your company, however.”

Danse shifted his eyes to Scott. After an excruciatingly long moment, he nodded. “It would do good for me to see the rest of the Commonwealth through new eyes. It could help the Brotherhood better understand how to help,” Danse let the corners of his mouth curl up ever so slightly, and Scott counted that as a victory.

“Great. We should probably head out soon, then. Can the rest of your team make it back to base alright?” Scott pulled a pack of slightly crumpled cigarettes out of his pack, and Danse frowned, but kept to himself. Scott caught his disapproving gaze out of the corner of his eyes and stifled a laugh. 

“Affirmative, there will be backup headed this way to intercept them now that we have retrieved the long range transmitter. My duty is now to accompany you, if you should wish it.”  
Scott caught a breath in his chest, stomping out the cigarette on the ground before even taking a pull from it. He looked back into the police station, where he could see Haylen and Rhys sitting talking loudly over a mostly empty bottle of wine. Haylen laughed, pressing her hands down on her knees to emphasize her point, and Rhys put his hands up.

The air seemed to get thinner around him as he looked back to Danse, who’s gaze hadn’t left Scott’s face since the offer was made. Scott crossed his arms and pointedly looked out into the city. “You sure you can leave duty like that? You could always meet up with me later, or somethin’,” Scott settled his eyes on a tower that stuck out of the skyline like a needle, reaching up into the afternoon clouds. Danse was quiet beside him, and Scott gripped his arms tighter. He instantly regretted making the offer, worried now that Danse would never show up. He wouldn’t mind the extra firepower going into unexplored territory, he thought. 

“It would be more wise for me to travel with you from this point, so we can map the quickest path to Diamond City. I’ve seen the streets more from overhead, but it shouldn’t be difficult to find the way there by foot,” Danse leaned his head back against the wood planks. 

Dogmeat decided this was a good time to interrupt, and trotted back over, head held high, and spongy looking meat dripping between his teeth. Danse scrunched up his nose, eyeing Dogmeat with a slight look of disgust. Scott smiled.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Guess path finding is more simple with people who are better acquainted with the area,” Scott let out a breath he forgot he was holding, and rounded the corner back into the police station to gather his belongings. 

Rhys caught his eye and reached up to pull him down for a drink. “Hey, nice work out there, rookie. Good to see you made it back in one piece. Thought for sure you were gonna get booted out there.”

“Bet for it actually! Rhys owes me like, 100 caps,” Haylen laughed, pouring a glass for Scott.

“Haylen, Rhys,” Danse leaned in the doorframe, his body tense and authoritative. Rhys and Haylen stood quicker than anyone Scott had ever seen. 

“Sir!” They answered, looking just over his shoulder, hands stiff at their sides.

“C’mon, Danse, give them a break,” Scott sighed and pushed himself off the floor. “No harm no foul,” He shrugged, his mouth breaking into an amused grin. Danse sighed and rubbed his temples.

“No drinking on the job, you know that. You need to be ready for anything, at any moment. This is how you get yourselves killed,” Danse frowned, his eyes leaving his team and drifting to Scott. “Backup will be here shortly, Scott and I are making our way to Diamond City.”

Rhys gaped for a moment and turned to look at Scott, several questions hanging on the tip of his tongue. He swiveled back around to face Danse once more, who was now making his way to an adjacent room to gather supplies. Dogmeat followed on his heels.

Haylen leaned over forcefully, inserting herself into Scott’s space. “What? How did you get him to go with you? I’ve never seen him stray from direct orders, not even once. And how did you convince him to address you by your first name? He doesn’t even do that for us!” She gaped, her eyes flicking between Scott and Danse.

“What did you do to Danse? Blackmail?” Rhys suddenly frowned, inching closer to where Scott was trying to defend himself.

“I did no such thing. We understand each other,” He leaned forward, glancing between the two. “You jealous Rhys?”

“Absolutely not. Just don’t want you messing in affairs you have no reason being a part of.” 

Scott folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t you hear? These are my affairs now too. I’m going to be joining the Brotherhood. You never know, you might have to answer to me one day too,” He winked, turning on his heel to grab his pack off the counter and hoist it over his shoulders. Rhys stood rigid next to Haylen.

Haylen smiled, “You sly dog,” She folded her arms. Scott shrugged, looking into the room where Danse had disappeared. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you both. Hopefully we will work together some time in the future,” He tipped an imaginary hat and walked towards the front doors. 

~

“There she is,” Scott mused, standing at the entrance of the bridge that lead to the city of Boston. “It’s been a while, old friend,” He laughed, holding a hand above his brow to shield against the setting sun. He let his mind pull forward the image of the city before the bombs, how clean and full of life it was, the steam rolling off the glass windows of the buildings and the people milling about the streets. It was almost weird seeing it so empty, and Scott had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the majority of the people who lived here died long ago, and the streets would never be as full of life again. Danse smiled down at him as he walked past. 

“Scott, we’ve got a ways to go still before night fall,” He said, taking the lead so Scott would follow. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” He said, pulling his eyes away from the buildings and focusing once more on Danse’s back, making his way across the bridge. “So,” He said, catching up to Danse and taking his place beside the Paladin. “What exactly is Diamond City?” 

“It’s known as the ‘Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth’. Many of the city’s rich and elite moved in there, as well as those just looking for safety within walls. It’s just another settlement of people trying to get by, but many think it an Oasis capable of rebuilding the old world,” Danse shifted the weight of his heavy pack, the Power Armor lessening the load on his shoulder. Scott whistled. 

“Rebuild the old world, huh? Hope they aren’t looking to make the same mistakes too,” Scott mused, hoping they weren’t going to run into a bunch of worshiping loons in the city.   
They walked in silence for a ways, Scott holding tight to his rifle and Dogmeat at his side. The dog had been keeping tabs on something to their left, and Danse caught on several blocks previous to where they were now. Scott watched as Danse looked over to him, nodding curtly. Scott took a breath and waited for Danse’s signal. When the Paladin stepped wide to enter a firing stance, Scott dodged and rolled to the left, making a flanking angle beside the danger in question and Paladin Danse’s location. 

Scott caught a glimpse of who was behind the panic and immediately lowered his gun. “Danse… Danse, it’s just a kid,” Scott barked, hoping that would get Danse to lower his gun.  
“Don’t be fooled, Warren. In the city, kids are recruited to be Halfway Rats,” Danse raised his gun higher, taking a step towards the girl. 

“Halfway Rats? What are—Danse, put down the gun for God Sake!” Scott jumped to his side, putting a hand on the Paladin’s pistol and lowering it the best he could with Danse objecting to the motion.

“They are a part of gangs in the city, they meet strangers on the road in and use their charm to reel them in and then mug them with everything they’ve got.”

“You don’t know that’s what this is! This kid could just be lost,” He leaned in, lowering his voice but not letting up on the bite in his tone. “Look, I don’t know where the Brotherhood gets off aiming at children. She must be smart enough to know not to mess with someone in Power Armor even if she is a thug. Get a grip, you’re scaring the kid,” He hissed at Danse, motioning for Dogmeat to settle down. He set down his rifle and made a move towards the girl. She backed away, her eyes wide.

“Warren, do not approach the hostile!” Danse commanded between clenched teeth. Scott didn’t listen, and instead took another step in the girl’s direction. “Scott!” Danse tried again, raising the pistol once more. 

“Hey, what’s your name? I know you’ve been following us for a while. Don’t worry about my friend there, he won’t actually hurt you,” Scott reached out for her, kneeling down slowly. “My name’s Scott, and this here is Dogmeat. C’mere boy,” He said, calling Dogmeat over, who instantly stuck out his tongue and dropped down on his hind legs when he got close enough. The girl reached out, her hands smaller than a peach. She couldn’t have been more than 10, Scott figured. Her curly hair was bunched up and fluffy around her shoulders, and Scott finally noticed how much dirt caked her dark skin as she moved out of the shadows. The girl couldn’t belong to a gang, she was filthy. 

“Symara,” She said softly. 

“Symara, where do you live?” Scott asked, nodding when she went to put her hand on Dogmeat’s head. 

“Home,” Symara chirped, motioning to the large buildings around her.

Scott looked back at Danse, who had finally lowered his weapon, assumedly coming to the same conclusion as Scott had. “You live here, out in the city? How have you survived?” Scott asked. Symara didn’t respond.

“We should bring her with us,” Danse said. Scott rounded on his toes and looked up at him.

“Really? The great Paladin Danse is having sympathy for a child?”

“I’m a soldier, Warren, not a heartless bastard,” Danse said, his eyes on the girl. 

“Alright, then,” Scott turned back to Symara. “Hey, have you heard of Diamond City? That’s where we are going, why don’t you come with us?” Scott asked, smiling at the girl. She nodded. “Great, now, it’s dark out so we can’t finish the trip tonight. You said this is your home, right?” Scott asked, the girl nodded again, more enthusiastically. “Where’s a good place to stay, what’s your favorite building?” He tried, crossing his arms over his knees.

“Blue one, but be veeeeery quiet,” She put her fingers over her lips, making a hushing noise. “We walk past monsters to be there,” she pointed in the direction of the building she was referring to. “Follow Symara,” She said, cheerfully.

Scott looked back at Danse, who raised an eyebrow, concerned. Scott just shrugged and Stood as the girl took his hand and lead them into the rubble from where she had come.   
As they emerged on the other side of a collapsed wall, Scott took notice of the fire barrels and bags of meat hung from the lamp posts. He drew in a shaky loud breath, and Danse put a hand on his back. “Quiet, Scott.”

“What in the hell?” Scott turned around, whispering around clenched teeth.

“Super mutants,” Danse said, his eyes never leaving the Super Mutant camp. “We need to stay as far from them as possible. We don’t need to fight them if we don’t have to,” Danse pushed Scott along, the girl watching them quizzically from a hole in the foundation of the next building. Dogmeat was panting at her side. 

“Come,” She said, “We almost made it!” She laughed quietly, ducking through the hole and disappearing. Scott fit well enough, but the Power Armor made it difficult for Danse to make it through without busting more of the foundation apart. They looked back cautiously to see if it grabbed the attention of any of the Super Mutants, and were relieved to see that it hadn’t. Symara was bounding up a flight of stairs when Scott and Danse both finally cleared the entrance and stood in the lobby of what appeared to be a bank. Scott whistled, it was all dense marble and gold fixtures across the lobby.

“Would you look at that,” He said, walking towards the stairs that Symara was jumping up and down on. 

“The bridge is this way!” She called, obviously aware her voice was hidden by the thick walls from the outside world. Scott followed her lead, dragging Danse along behind him. The Paladin was looking to be tired of this goose chase, and Scott laughed. 

“Come on, Paladin, at least look like you’re having fun. It’s like an adventure. Didn’t you do stuff like this when you were a kid?” Scott asked.   
Danse’s eyes widened and he stopped on a stair. “I…” He started. Scott stopped climbing as well, turning to look at him.

“Danse?”

“I… don’t remember,” He said after a moment. He looked up at Scott, something unreadable stretched across his face. Scott opened his mouth again to answer, but Symara poked her head back over the railing. 

“Come on old man!” She yelled, laughing as she disappeared again.

“This kid,” Scott huffed, but didn’t help the smile that curled at the edges of his mouth. Danse followed as they continued their ascent. 

The bridge was narrow, and spanned the length of the alley to the back of the bank. Scott peered over the edge, his chest tightening. They were at least 30 stories up, and if they fell, they would die. Well, Danse wouldn’t because he’s wearing Power Armor, but Scott definitely would. He wondered how many times Symara had made this journey. 

They crossed the bridge into what seemed to be luxury apartments, and Scott raised an eyebrow at the clean floors and decorations still on the walls. “What is this place?” He asked.  
Symara spoke up, her voice small but sure of itself, like she was proud of the story. “Mama grew up here. Her people kept the place clean, bombed out the bottom so nobody could get to them. But bad people came here one day, to kill Mama and her people. I don’t go down to the floor where Mama died anymore. But I live here now, just Symara. No bad people have come back,” She said, putting her hands on her hips as she lead the way to a few rooms at the end of the hall. There were fancy beds along the walls, and the apartments had been joined together seamlessly by removing the foundation between them.

“Your mother’s settlement was wiped out?” Scott asked. Symara nodded, not giving him an actual answer. Instead she stopped and climbed up on a chair. 

“Welcome to my house! I will let you sleep anywhere,” She grinned. “But not my bed. It’s only for Princess Symara.”

Scott nodded and watched Symara jump off the chair and make her way to another room in the apartment. Dogmeat had taken no time at all curling up on a chair and closing his eyes. Scott sighed.

Danse released the seal on his Power Armor and slinked out of it, exhausted. “We better make a fire. It’s going to get cold as the night wears on,” Danse said, motioning for the trash can and anything they could salvage to burn. 

When the fire was lit, Scott invited Danse to take a seat. Danse humored him and leaned back against a couch to Scott’s left. Scott took a bottle of old whiskey from his bag and poured a glass for the both of them. 

“Wanna tell me what’s up, soldier?” He teased, offering Danse the glass. Danse was quiet. “You have been out of it ever since I asked about your childhood. What happened?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is being picked up off the streets when I was 18 by a good family. Then I joined the Brotherhood,” He said, swirling the whiskey in the glass. 

“Maybe you were in some kind of accident?” Scott asked, trying to pry the information out of the Paladin as gently as possible, knowing full well Danse didn’t want to talk. 

“Warren, we should get some rest. There’s a long road ahead of us tomorrow,” Danse said, still staring down at his whiskey.

“Alright, but at least finish your drink first. I bet it’s aged nicely, what being over 200 years old and all,” He smiled softly, downing his glass in one go.


End file.
